


Check

by alafaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft doesn't ask people on dates. He just subtly manouvers them until they realize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mydwynter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydwynter/gifts).



> Written for for the 2013 fest and posted first [here](http://holmestice.livejournal.com/223089.html#t2252913).

Greg looked up at the restaurant the car had stopped in front of. Not only was it well above his pay grade, he was certainly not dressed for it. He'd likely get turned away if he tried the front door. The back would laugh him out into the alley. He turned to Mycroft's assistant. "Are you sure this is the place?"

"Yes," she answered, not looking up. "Mr. Holmes regrets not picking you up himself, but he was held back by a meeting. He'll meet you inside shortly. Simply tell the maitre d' that you are there for the Holmes reservation."

"Yeah, hang on," Greg protested. "This is not the usual thing, is it?"

She was silent. Almost mockingly so. Greg huffed and turned his collar up before exiting the vehicle for the sheet of rain. He ducked into the restaurant as soon as he could and the maitre d' raised a condescending eyebrow. "Can I help you, sir?" It was clear he was waiting for Greg to say something that would give him just reason to kick Greg out.

"Reservation," Greg stuttered. "For Holmes."

The maitre d' raised both eyebrows, but collected a menu and ordered Greg to follow him. Greg kept his head up, refusing to be shamed, but he did not miss a single one of the looks thrown his way by the other, well-dressed patrons. He might not be able to even afford a soda here, but he still had his pride and he would be damned if anyone looked down on him because he had less money. When they arrived at the table, his coat was taken to a coat check and he was given a menu. He ordered a soda (though he admittedly marvelled that it was even on the menu) and settled in to wait.

The looks continued and Greg grew nervous. He usually met with Mycroft at the other man's office (maybe--Greg was never sure if it was just a set) or in a vehicle. They discussed Sherlock--his cases (what Greg knew of them), his behaviour, the chance that Sherlock was using. Greg disliked it, but Sherlock had told him to do it--if only because Greg knew what to not tell Mycroft.

Admittedly, the last few meetings had been in mundane restaurants and they had discussed everything but Sherlock. Yet none of the restaurants were like this. This was...Greg nervously sipped his cola. A suspicion started in the back of his mind, but he dismissed the thought.

Because he doubted that Mycroft ever dated anyone.

Even if secretly dating someone would be Mycroft's style.

But no. Greg was sure Mycroft was straight and he was just as sure that even if Mycroft liked men, he wouldn't want a rough police investigator.

Nope.

Conversation dimmed and Greg looked up, wondering if he was about to get thrown out. Instead, however, Mycroft was coming in looking dry despite the rain and as put together as he likely had that morning. He calmly sat in the chair opposite Greg's and the maitre d' (who had followed Mycroft instead of leading him) handed over a menu, reassuring him that the bottle of white he had requested was on the way with two glasses.

In a dizzying span of ten minutes, the wine was delivered and approved; two glasses poured, an appetizer arrived, and the waiter was only waiting for Greg to make his choice for a meal. Greg must've looked lost because Mycroft smiled softly and said, "Bring him what I ordered, please."

The waiter nodded his head and left. Greg warily eyed the glass of wine. "So."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "I apologize. I'm sure you know now that Sherlock has dozens of places and people who owe him a favour. This happens to be one of mine. I saved the owner from a rather embarrassing scandal."

Greg nodded. "Right. That explains..." He waved his hand to encompass the flurry of activity that had just passed through.

Mycroft smiled again. "It does. Please, drink the wine. You prefer white and while it is not a vintage you'd tasted before, I assure you it is to your taste."

Greg swallowed hard. He was sure it was exactly what he liked and would forever want after this no matter that he wouldn't be able to buy it. He sat back in his chair. "Before I do, can I ask why we're here? Not our usual meeting place, is it?"

Mycroft looked away and then back. "I hope this is not our usual meeting."

Greg took a deep breath. "And what kind of meeting is this?"

"I had hoped it could perhaps be a date," Mycroft said quietly.

Hope blossomed and died in Greg's chest. "Like our previous meetings?"

Mycroft smirked. "What would you have done, Inspector, if I had asked you out?"

Greg...honestly wasn't sure. It was true that he had been nursing some feelings toward Mycroft, but it had never been huge. Nothing to shake up his world. He'd wanked a few times over Mycroft, but only the few. Mycroft was handsome, charming, and always looked good in a suit, but Greg's feelings went only that far. But would he have honestly said yes if Mycroft had asked?

Mycroft licked his lips. "Besides, I highly suspect that subtly dating you--now that you know--was attractive for you. In some form."

Greg swallowed hard. He couldn't deny that--the idea that Mycroft was masterful enough in social situations and with Greg, enough to make a social situation go the way he wanted it without alerting the people in the situation--was a small turn on. His mind flashed briefly on an image of finding himself in bed with Mycroft, completely sated, but having no idea how it had happened and not caring.

Mycroft's eyes darkened. "Drink your wine, Greg."

Greg did so, subtly placing his napkin in his lap to hopefully hide the evidence that he was turned on. "You're a bastard."

Mycroft chuckled, completely understanding what exactly Greg meant.

Greg was completely fucked. He found he didn't mind. Especially if it meant he would, one way or another, get fucked by Mycroft.


End file.
